Bugolgi Apparatus

I was the wife stayed at home when   you went out   you left me with so much   to think about   replaying our movies every scene   worried about you so much didn’t know who to believe   when I was the wife   you were making bread   took care of our family   you were restless   when I was the wife   I could imagine   a place for us   and a relationship   we follow the drama   dog earring the page   waking up waiting   for an episode to play I picked up the pen   I never went back I became a writer   you, the subject  

  Drawing Circles (Gaulke/Brown) She's calling you from faraway from the place that doesn't change on the border of dreams and memories   where everything decays you miss sundays on the beach weekdays on tv nothing then seems boring now in a so-so pizza place with a magnet in her hand drawing circles in the sand changing the air   with her moods feelings come in waves pulling you   through her hair deeper into solitude collecting roots and reeds making talismen from seeds she's working you into her art as her passion burns the sea checking under the bed smoke rings around your neck a moment free's all you need to feel just what she meant verse: B9/C#7 chorus: Fm6/B9/A Drawing Circles

https://www.amazon.com/Inversions-Poems-Bob-Gaulke/dp/1978024010/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1509230528&sr=8-5&keywords=bob+gaulke

Tonight in suburbs everywhere tonight people are turning in their neighbors they’re suspicious types they keep to themselves look violent drive in menacing ways not friendly producing strange smells capable of anything when trapped in a cul-de-sac

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1975608895/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1506607783&sr=8-2&keywords=mouthfeel

Poem of the Week

Unpopular Music  I want to tell you  tell you a secret you have to promise not to hear it  I’m in front of you  with my emotions under my clothes I’m naked I’m gonna play unpopular music I don’t want you to sing along I’m gonna play  unpopular music  don’t dance to it you’ll break an arm these young people everywhere  I love them  in my own way  I see them hurting with questions I know what they feel but can’t explain  how they need  unpopular music  to fill in lines  without names  how they sing unpopular music  it’s something  they can’t explain  just knowing  needing to be knowing something in the universe  feels the same 

You're My Shop I meet you behind closed doors discover you walking the floor see everything in you I want  I know you're my shop our relations have been constrained now my credit limit's been raised I love the weight of full bags reminded of you in subway ads the practical side of our love Is displayed for the world to see we fit like hand in glove on sale for the winter season the only relationship I have Is the banter with your associates I live on a planet made up entirely of parking garages

The fetishist gotta be selectively blind to survive these times lose your mind  if you think about how we live domain extends inches  beyond our bodies  even then we struggle   to defend ourselves wrap yourself in a dream  surround yourself with things  in a small room  with an air filter maybe you can come   in for a little while  without disturbing   any objects try to connect  tension that’s best  we can almost touch  something like a feeling

Sunga is here New album out now: Album release-"Sunga" This mini-album is the result of a year and a half stint living in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil. Although I'm passionate about Brazilian music, I recognize my limitations as a writer and musician, so the songs are rather a reflection of the experience of being dislocated in a foriegn culture as much as they are about my feelings of the culture itself. I wrote two-dozen songs and found some which created a listening experience that reflects for me the sense of wonder and confusion one feels when you put yourself in orbit around a strange new star. On BandCamp here: bobgaulke.bandcamp.com/album/sunga

Tablet forms When it's you and me Against the world I feel lonely for the world Two against one You follow me  To the crypt My equipment  On the altar of worship I know I've gone wrong But not sure how I miss friends  Lost in the struggle Ambitions, normalcy, Self-esteem, disappointment  I've no idea what kills them off As the grinding sound in the distance Is masked by the highway's Ocean sounds

We had gotten to the point in the relationship  when communication was reduced  to a series of gropes mixed with baby-talk  centered around essential needs It was a steep transition back to the world;  streets, right angles, credit cards sometimes we didn’t make it at all the world plotted next steps  so compelling was our private world  we often forgot to code switch she would be found hugging policeman teachers, or random angry people  whispering in their ears while  checking their pants for smellies I’d spend hours on the phone discussing romantic particulars  with customer service representatives  and automated bank tellers luckily, we could always find our way  back to her apartment  due to the tenacity of the mylar rainbow  sticker on her apartment window

https://www.youtube.com/user/bgaulke

fascist haircut I’m trying to kiss you  with your new fascist haircut something resists    you don’t want to go on about it say it’s not a signal  shouldn’t think too much about it brutalist architecture  references  sides with an inferno on top of it  those fascists had style it’s very aerodynamic  think they’d smile  if they saw how things finish wouldn’t want you shot  over questions of appearances everything’s a symbol  in the breakdown of languages

Have you met my needs? I was there in line and bad voice spoke to me I’d order the extra bacon  even though it meant   shaving minutes off of my life and the planet’s  I couldn’t care less at that moment it was the only pleasure available  before I had met you  and now we spend our days and nights in all sorts of blister and tetra packs in my apartment in your underwear and we rub each other fast enough  to erase any memories of happier times when we were younger  and we never had second thoughts about looking beyond our desires

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqZ6c0aIJqM&feature=youtu.be

Plans “A”, “B”, & “Z” You’ll be very successful  We’ll live on Park Avenue Our children will have famous friends We’ll become rich helping others I’ll work as a waiter; you're a social worker We sometimes see our kids Even the one in trouble Our parents will help us out You’ll hit him with the rock  I’ll stab him with the spear We’ll have enough meat for the winter His skin will make us gloves 

we rely on friends to be family and then after they leave we're left with only the kindness of strangers  despite everything behind our eyes in a split second we realize you're a part of me I'm some of you  before the fear  split us in two we make a gesture we remember  the kindness of strangers the body next to me the one across the way the crowd in front of me ones on display you and me full of pain and the ecstasy that awaits as strangeness comes into view

It's one-sixteen out the cars are starting to melt people walk into the supermarket AC takes you down by a power of ten there's nothing to be said about the wealth of goods on the shelf hunter gatherers  couldn't imagine how four corners of the world could get so bent coffee from Colombia  beef from Japan paper towel from the Amazon  corn from the heartland  all go into the cart of people very well-fed living inside of luxury boxes behind iron fences I get their animal natures  I see how they're scared making political choices from  reptile parts of their brains

drugugly got this little habit  it won't quit  addicted to my roof food and bed nothing against homelessness  I envy it  one day I'll kick this habit straight in the head it's that middle class feeling clinging to my clothes  sense of privilege and some childhood photos middle class feeling won't let go  despite evidence to the contrary that it never was drop bombs over there weather's never been the same  friends have all changed  faces and names  you've got plenty of news  none of it good  yet you still refuse  to blow up the world that middle class feeling clogging your pores clinging to ambitions it's no good  middle class feeling tickling your nose  in all those ads  in your friends' photos

Airports   All the love ambition  Prejudice and hurt Everything processed through  What we've seen felt done and heard All the imagination Incarceration and rebirth We carry the history In our unspoken attitudes  Body language assumptions And sense of rectitude We're never above it It's never far away, I'm sure Each time I'm in public  I'm reminded of this dependency The needs of the many The rights of a few All are required to be processed Through an eight-year old's point of view

Drugs Everyone in this place Must be on drugs How else could they   Stand these indignities Only this accounts For the lack of love Feelings must be Encased daily Every day a man begs for bread In a car of people Well-dressed, well-fed Not a single person Crosses his palm He's us and we Can't give a damn Everyone escapes High on themselves Too tired to confront This vicious reality It's in and out Of our hands Lost in mirrors Ending madly

Wild I had a feeling you were wild but I never thought you were with it I bet you preferred to hide it at times wishing to kill it as it tried to fuck your professionalism I noticed it’s the only thing keeping you alive when you come to think of it everything you do the rest of the time is just a form of accounting

I learn so much from bad art.

Vestigial Tales Lost when you Become an adult What you could tell Your younger self Some feelings You can't even spell Leaving their marks Without a pause It's colder inside Than it is out You're left with Vague suspicions And drowned meanings Still haunted by what You thought You'd become

Nice You speak several languages Earn more than my parents Cause a lot of damage Living many lives Despite three mortgages And your achievements You're not a happy person And there's so little time To be nice  To find where love's hidden  To give without getting Permission To be nice without hope Of being a winner To find the something Missing in your interior Cynicism's easy  But it's not charming You get defensive I know you're hurting To see the worst in people To always know how it ends To feel superior when It comes to facts It leaves an emptiness in you  That continues to expand But to be nice To leave it behind To think twice Taking heart over mind To feel light Free of the burdens  Pressing down On everything around you 

https://youtu.be/1e3TFgQx6VM

laughter that straight face  has served you well through four seasons and many years when you could have screamed for help instead of letting things  undo themselves slit of a mouth crooked nose faulty sound system  and video straight face remains exposed kissed and slapped seldom needs repair you've still got a use for it l see it hasn't aged a bit more than me

My bank account when I left the middle class I had few regrets held onto the accent  but little else saw the destruction wrought by twenty million sultans had to imagine  being someone else  You approach with caution Unfamiliar with my medication Your drug of choice is exhaustion We merge and create situations I began to relax When I perceived no threat I'd fallen out range Of any panic attic I slept close to the ground  without making a sound just an occasional nightmare from that distant past

I've been lost for words lately They've been tied up  In thoughts going nowhere Eating each other up As I feel a certain pressure From below surging up Passed you on the street the other day  And I just couldn't stop  I felt there would be nothing To say I just gave up To thoughts heading somewhere   Looking for a way out  Into distant galaxies I'm gazing at stars

Windowglazing I'm fascinated by these questions Less interested in the solutions If I've got nothing else to think about My mind enters desperate places You raise an interesting point I'm lost in your calculations We could continue this discussion Well into the next session These questions return at night They never leave my imagination Providing a way to navigate a life Full of less important distractions

sit-ups when are the times  not troubling do we ever  step back from struggle how often do we reflect  on our own imbroglios  only to conclude there's  something as off  as the planet's  own movement when are we ever  un-desperate just for minutes  every two weekends when there's still  cash in the wallet and no trace yet  of Sunday dread I'm not gonna sit back  and let it all happen but pardon me  for a minute  while I uncouple  the brakes   on this speeding  sandwich  before we're all knee-deep in the ketchup 

Eternities of more dimensions are waiting for you graphic novels, models, conventions limited super deluxe edition reissues   with bonus tracks galore  frozen dinners oxygen channels  TV movies worldwide networks  couldn't have been  imagined decades ago plunge in without hesitation  the bedroom apartment mausoleum  is ready the shelving the shelving is the price to pay for damnation If you could just sign your name and sign off on never finding intimacy again  with another human being never becoming involved in social or political meetings I can promise you  an eternity of more

Please Rise between watchful  eyes of a nation during prototype  demonstrations  before   combination exhumation convocations opportunity  presents itself  without much  of a precedent sliver of an  accident  could bring down  all the plans  please rise while skies are raining fear please rise ask what you’re doing here inside before they turn gears still time I’ve unplugged the monitors during the confusion  inside the darkness with fingers of fate  stuck inside holy pockets  time telescopes physics, suspended  adrenaline pumps minds connected while they erect the palace before they’re established as stars type out  their last desperate message

Thursdayness everyone today is angry and stoned we're in this sandwiched reality where we can see the abyss when we want and chose to look the other way my students are carnivorous and all out of shits and fucks for America twenty-one seven adults on the street feel homeless although their circumstances improve when the sunshine shows itself

woven show me the fabric tell me you like it let me in on your little secret we can make it without equipment it just takes effort  and concentration tell me it's useful show me it's durable  wearable most of all it feels beautiful with a delicate side that easily tears takes some mending and some care we bend don't break  feeling it's a mistake take a step back  see what we've made patterns to remember  we're woven together tangled in colors  strange and familiar 

details fingers walk hours round your back looking for a  spot to relax thirsty they dive  for the watering hole what a surprise  when a camel follows looking for details admiring details   can you spot the details god's in the details looking over images  on your phone hundreds of minutes have lost control hints of weakness is what you're about a captured moment's all you want with details every sound, every smell details they're all you remember  details  we'll scratch initials with details onto marble

Rotations Slowly but surely  They were all Driven crazy  By the sound  Of the grinding Some claimed  Not to hear it Others just ate Few thought to face it Most played games Deep in their eyes They had  To reconcile Their lives  To the sound of the grinding The distant screams And eight billion  Dreams Fed into  A precision machine Trees, plants,  Grandmothers Birds, insects, lovers Villages with traditions Cultures and accumulated wisdom All unsorted  Not even folded Keeping frequencies  Humming And stars at a distance

the lonely fanboy I’m finding it harder to read losing the desire to make art thinking is giving me a headache their reality is becoming strong is this all that we are where am I taking these children how does the power of imagination  deflect lies and bullets the worst is still coming  their apocalyptic dreams  lining up like manga visions of a very lonely fanboy

bold new work:

Sensory inventory Heels pinch me Earrings pull me down Skirts twist me Clasps leave marks I practice the walk Work mirror and brush Even if it comes off The work has been done I was made for something else what it is I can't tell At times I've felt I could do anything I wanted You use words casually They slip from your mouth As easily as you find yourself With me feeling lost You leave your clothes In a pile on the floor Naked you reveal nothing Eyes follow smoke Not wanting to do anything Leaves me restless at best The refrain's constant "What to do now"

uncertain me Not having lived With this much uncertainty for so long I had forgotten about that Extra layer of exhaustion I throw myself into your work  it's not wrong For a few moments then The chaos lessens We venture back from Slush and mud Feeling somewhat   Weather beaten Returning to what  we can't touch We hold on to what feels Slightly less uncertain

The proper distance we were both terrible at physics we'd get too close then bounce back out of range of gravitational force spun out alone with some dark matter when we were too far away we'd start to shake clinging onto anything  readily at hand damage done  apologies made  in retrospect it would've been easier to stay in place buy a calculator  and just learn some trig

Loner with dog Haunted by backyard floodlights Against white snow black night And the dog lived outside Every night I'd close the door Cage and watch her eyes I shut the garage door We'd watch each other through The bedroom window My mom warned me I'd be Setting patterns for my Future relationships She was right

students I wanted to tell them that everything would be OK but I couldn’t  I let myself be cut to pieces  by their fears  and assumptions I wanted to tell them  not to be afraid  but I didn’t  I wanted to  hold them then even if it hurt so I took it home took it home  and I smoked it drew it  out of the pen hit the buttons  and couldn’t  fool myself about the difference 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vo7x4JAWNNQ

Mute I've forgotten how to read I've lost the ability to leave these times The luxury of an interior life Seems too costly to maintain My body misses something Hands move around furtively Reaching for a page When there's nothing there The quality of the lighting Reminds us of old tv Actors move around uninspired  The cameraman can't hear We don't know what we're missing Having lost the pages to describe  A terrible thing that keeps on rolling Around somewhere in ourselves 

elevator hours how far do we zoom out to make sense of this to understand the nature of these occurences bird’s eye view may not be adequate satellite image of the planet maybe a time-lapse supernova billions of years flat how close do we get when it doesn't make sense when sex doesn’t explain it perhaps twenty years in bed elevator hours before taking stairs feel what exhaustion can do for understanding we embrace contradictions with a loving touch climax as the friction hits the spot and again we ask wrong questions from our limited perspectives it's all just a bit too much

The Orgasm Thief Silent, deadly she  Creeps between sheets In the windows of widows  In dreams of pre-teens Whisper her name And then she disappears Through your window  And up the next street Leaving you shaking A leaf without relief You’ve been done in again By the orgasm thief Striking fear In the heart of everyone near At the point of climax  She rides out of there    Making you worry about  Laundry, deadlines, impending bills Car payments, baby sitters You lie there stilled  Put her out of your mind Refuse to give in  Send her down the road  To that children’s hospital